


Coincidences

by GrngrDngr



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, TWO plot ocs whoops, Trans Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Trans Male Character, Trans Roadhog | Mako Rutledge, junker origins, junkrat eats a bug, just in case, knife trauma, misgendering in chapter 1 by a complete stranger, plot OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:44:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrngrDngr/pseuds/GrngrDngr
Summary: Jamison would find it hard to survive in the irradiated outback, if it weren't for a certain someone he keeps bumping into.





	1. Chapter 1

Jamison could recreate in his head what had happened that morning, over and over and over. He was eating dinner with his parents. Mashed potatoes, rice, and split pea soup filled his bowl, and he ate it up quickly, having to be scolded by his mother for getting it all over his face. His dad had went to watch a football game in the den, bringing his plate, while his mother wiped down the table. Then it happened. He flew out of his chair, hitting the wall of the dining room with a thud. The TV in the den shattered. The table, which his mother had been wiping, fell forwards, and hit against him. That was when Jamison expected he had passed out.

He didn't know when he woke up again. His legs were numb, and his eyes were sore and dry. Dryer still was his throat. He tried to call out for his parents, but made no sound. The heavy dining table pinned his legs down, and he tried to move them, feeling the brittleness of his own bones. Had they always been like that? He let out a strained noise, and squirmed more where he was, desperately crawling at the ground and trying to get himself up.

"Mum?"

He was surprised at how hoarse and desperate his voice sounded, and decided not to yell again. He could feel his heart beating quickly in his chest, and his breath hitched nervously.

Then he passed out again.

He couldn't believe how thirsty he was when we woke up again. His throat felt as if it was burning, and his lips were chapped and bleeding. His stomach churned painfully, and he clutched it with both hands, blinking crust from his eyes. He had to find food. Something. Anything. He blinked at movement in the corner of his eyes, and turned his head. A cockroach was stuck on its back, its legs flailing helplessly.

Jamison hesitated.

He shifted in his position, and reached out, grunting with effort to reach the bug. He grabbed it in a hand, shoved it into his mouth without a moment's hesitation, chewed, and swallowed. He gagged a bit, but licked his lips, his horribly empty stomach spasming, desperate for more food. Wait. Something was different. He heard a door open. His door? Footsteps. Loud. Coming closer. He groggily looked up, blinking at the light as the door to the kitchen opened. Someone lingered in the doorway for a moment, then began to close it.

"Wait, wait!"

He erupted into a fit of coughs, his voice weak. The closing door paused, and the person walked in, heaving up the table. Jamison stared up at the person. They wore a gas mask, and had on a thick, blue camouflage suit. The collar flared out, and there was a zipper going down the front. It looked to be made of some thick, heavy material, because of the man's lumbering movements.

Jamie stared up at him, eyes widening slightly in fear. The only noise was the raspy sound of the man breathing through the filter. Jamie tried to stand up, to get out from under the table, but his weak legs crumbled underneath him once he tried. He stared helplessly up to the large man, and yelped as he was grabbed.

The man shifted to hold him to his chest, and held him tightly, turning to go into the living room. He lay Jamie down on the couch, then grabbed a canteen from his hip in a massive hand. He popped the cap off with a thumb, and poured it into Jamie's mouth, who had gone limp when picked up, and gulped the liquid down breathlessly. When the water had ran out, he looked up at the man helplessly, who paused, then left the room.

Jamie tried to roll off the couch and stand up, but couldn't even manage to shift his position. His muscles ached from disuse. The man returned, and set the canteen down on his stomach, which was filled again, and left the room once more. There was the sound of cabinets opening and closing, a pan being set down. The sound of metal banging on the wood counter. Food? Water. Thirsty. Jamison lifted a hand labouredly, to try and push the canteen to his mouth. He grabbed the nozzle with his teeth, then tipped his head back, gulping down the liquid, slower than he had before. His lips were still awfully chapped and bleeding, but they didn't hurt as much.

He panted, grabbing the canteen out of his mouth and letting it fall out of his aching hand, back onto his stomach. Wait. Something different. Taste? No. Smell! He sniffed the air, confused for a moment, before he realised that something was cooking. Food! He flopped off of the couch, falling onto the floor for a moment, before forcing himself up onto two feet. He took a few clumsy steps, almost tripping once he entered the kitchen, but righted himself, mouth watering at the smell of food, cooked food!

The man seemed a bit taken aback that the little boy was walking now, after appearing so weak, but chuckled, the sound low and rumbly. He stirred something in a pot, and Jamison went onto his tippy-toes to see what it was, before the man gently nudged him away from the stove. He pouted, then went to go sit down at the tiny kitchen table, pounding on the table with his fists excitedly. _Food!_

It took a few more minutes, but soon a plate of steaming hot beans was placed in front of him, and he shoveled it into his mouth, ignoring the burns as he practically inhaled it. The man expressed his displeasure for this, but Jamison didn't care. The food was warm and tasty and filling and it was there, dammit! He picked his plate up and licked off the residue, placing it back down and looking up at the man hopefully. The man shook his head, and put a lid on top of the rest of the beans.

"You have to survive on your own now. Ration your food. You're lucky; this house is sturdy. Barricade the doors. Stay hidden. And don't drink any milk, alright? Don't eat fish, either."

Jamison blinked at all of the instructions, frowning as the man turned to leave. His stomach hurt, but not empty-hurt. Sad-hurt. Why was the man leaving?

"Why are you leaving?"

The man paused, then looked back at him.

"I can't coddle you. It's a different world now. You need to learn to be by yourself."

Jamison's frowned deeply.

"A tough little girl like you'll be fine by yourself; I swear it. Alright?"

He turned, and crouched down to Jamison's level, ruffling his hair with a huge palm. Jamison skipped forward and wrapped his arms around the man, squeezing as hard as he could, though with his depleted strength it felt like nothing.

He didn't really remember much after that.

 

Jamison sat by a fire, poking a stick at it as he sat with his legs pulled up to his bare chest. The wood crackled and burned; good thing the grass around here was so dry. It made perfect kindling. The night sky was sort of pretty to look at. Not like he had anything better to do. It turned out his house wasn't as sturdy as the man had said. A few months later the foundation had gone weak, and the house basically caved in on itself. Luckily, Jamison had been working in the shed when it happened. Unluckily, it was virtually impossible to salvage anything from the heap.

Jamison poked at the fire again. What was it he was cooking again? Lizard, or rat again? It looked pretty burnt. Jamison sighed, then prodded it out of the fire, grabbing it in a gloved hand and tearing into it, despite the heat. His mouth was basically all scarring anyways; he was always impatient with his food. He took another bite, then sighed, swallowing and laying down on the dirt. He had to go into Junkertown tomorrow for supplies. Did he have any good scrap on him? Shit. Only his tire, knife and wire cutters. Could he part with the wire cutters? He could probably score another pair.  
Or he could go scrap-hunting before he went...

Jamison groaned, then closed his eyes and tried to sleep on the hard ground.

He woke up probably three hours later. The fire was gone, but the logs were still smoking, and the sky was a light blue but still dark outside. Maybe 4:00 in the morning? Fine.

Jamison sighed and heaved himself up, grabbing his tire and strapping it to his back. He stomped out the smoking logs and surveyed his camp for any supplies, but found nothing. There was no avoiding going into Junkertown. He closed his eyes and shook his head, building up courage, then trudged forward.

 

"Oi, sheila! Hide your shame, love!"

Jamison glared in the direction of the man hollering at him, and kept forward, hunched over slightly to make his chest less exposed. He then swung open the door to where a lesser-known tradie was holing up.

Jamison stretched out, tired of hiding his breasts, and grinned at the man at the counter, who stared back at him, unimpressed.

"Got any guns, Jer?"

The man sighed.

"You always take so many of my guns and never fuckin' use 'em. Just- Take the powder, right? That's what you want?"

Jamison giggled and clapped his hands excitedly, "Right! Knew you'd catch on eventually."

Jer fumbled with something under the counter for a bit, then placed a medium sized sack on the table.

"What've you got?" he pondered, raising an eyebrow at the younger Junker.

Jamie paused for a moment, scratching his cheek idly, "Oh- Uh, some wire cutters and a knife."

"That's it?"

"Yep!"

Jamie gave a nervous laugh as the older man responded with a disbelieving look, his eyebrows raised up high on his forehead. Jer glanced at the contraption strapped to Jamie’s back, a sudden growing interest obvious from the glint in his eyes

"What about your tire?"

"What? No! I keep telling you, it ain't for sale!"

"Well,” Jer begun, leaning hard against the counter, “I 'unno about giving you all this powder, then."

"Alright, alright, we both know what you want, you big gay bastard."

Jer smirked slightly, then opened the side door to the counter, letting Jamison go in. He grabbed the other man's ass, and Jamison twitched a bit.

Jamison zipped up his pants as he walked out, lugging the sack over his shoulder as he walked. He walked quickly, though; he wanted to get out of Junkertown as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: fixed some phrasings


	2. Chapter 2

Jamison sighed. He probably should've grabbed more than just gunpowder, but Junkertown made him more than nervous. He took his tire off, setting it next to the charred remains of the fire, and opened the metal plate of one side. He shoved the sack in for safekeeping amongst all the wires, and closed it up again, heaving it back onto his back. He put his hands on his hips, surveying the area, before clapping his hands clean and walking out of his campsite.

Scrap hunting time.

The junkyard was probably a predictable choice; it was his stomping ground. He felt at home amongst all the junk. But, no one was there, so it was the safest bet to find some valuable scrap. Or, maybe no one was there because there wasn't any valuable scrap. Whatever. He dug around in a little pile of black trash bags, opening one, then gagging as the smell of rotting fish hit his nose. He dropped the bag in disgust, and groaned loudly, turning and rooting around in other bags. He swore as he cut his hand on something, then grabbed what cut him. A scrap piece of tin. He efficiently shoved it into his tire, then went back to searching.

The sun was about to set, and he was covered in cuts, dirt, and bruises, but his tire was much heavier with scrap. If he couldn't make it all into anything, at least it might fetch a nice price from Jer. He'd like to eat something other than rat-lizard, for a change. Or, maybe, he could make it into a weapon, and blow Jer the fuck up and take all his shit. He sighed dreamily, then hopped down from his junk pile, wiping his sweaty forehead as he looked to the sky. Late. His stomach growled painfully, reminding him of the matter of finding something to eat, and he looked around, as if somehow, something edible was going to materialize into his line of sight. He groaned inwardly, then trudged toward the general direction of his campsite, his legs sore and aching from all the work he had done today.

Jamison paused, then sniffed the air, brows creasing slightly in confusion. A smell. Fire? But, tasty fire. Shit. Someone was cooking something, and it smelt good. Jamison turned around, still smelling the air, almost greedily.

If anyone was dumb enough to cook something smelling that good out in the open, well, Jamison could kill them, right? Other junkers did it all the time.

He followed the direction of the scent, having to push through some thickets to get to it, not really caring about the noise he made as long as he got some food into his stomach. Though, he became more careful the closer he got to the intoxicating smell, not wanting to alert it's owner to his intentions. He crouched at a bush, watching the fire of the someone's campsite, his mind positively buzzing at the stimulation of the smell of, honest to God, good food.

It looked like maybe a pig, roasting on a spit over the fire. Not even a mutated pig, with the big gross tusks and dry curly fur. A plump farm-pig. The junker cooking it looked almost as skinny as Jamie did, though he didn't look as strong. He poked at the pig with a stick, tearing the skin slightly, and Jamison had to keep himself from lunging toward the food. Patience. He slowly, quietly, took his tire off, taking off one of the metal plates and grabbing a little metal sphere.

On closer inspection, it was a roughly welded together explosive, with a fuse made of frayed, thin rope. It was probably filled with nothing but gunpowder. Jamison dug around in his tire more, and clutched his lighter in a hand, kissing it before pulling away and flicking it on, the tiny flame dancing wonderfully before his eyes. He focused again on the other junker, who was staring fixedly at the pig, and Jamison smiled sympathetically, before lighting the fuse and gently tossing it. The fuse burned down slowly, and Jamison edged away slightly to avoid the explosion, before remembering the huge bag of gunpowder in his tire, and hurriedly screwed the metal plate back on, to prevent a bigger explosion.

There was a loud, reverberating noise, and the other Junker was basically gone. Kind of. Jamison ignored the shrapnel of blood and bits, the blistering bushes and trees, and instead focused his attention on the pig, licking his lips as he stared at it in complete awe. After a moment, though, he snapped out of it, and blinked, suddenly remembering his tire. He stepped back over to it, opening it once more to put back his lighter and grab his knife, and closed it once again. He pulled it back onto his shoulders, and stepped over to the pig, hurriedly cutting off pieces of it, shoving one into his mouth as he continued to carve it up.

He paused to look at the extra meat in his hands, not quite sure what to do with it at first, before looking around. He didn't really have anywhere to put it; he didn't want to get gunpowder or lighter fluid on the food by putting it in his tire, and he couldn't just waste it by eating it all.

He felt bad for a moment; the junker cooking it probably had a plan to store the extra meat.

Suddenly, he perked up. Junkers! He could sell the extra meat, get whatever he wanted for it! Meat was hard to come by as it is, and meat from a non-irradiated animal? It was like gold! Sweet, crispy gold.

It was good it was so late; he didn't want to walk through Junkertown in broad daylight with fresh, cooked meat. Who knew how hard he would die? He'd be skinned alive.

He approached the door to Jer's shop, pausing for a moment, as if debating whether or not to actually sell this meat. It was the most valuable thing he'd ever come across in his life. But, it'd go bad if he didn't sell. He knew from experience his digestive system, weakened from starvation, couldn't handle gorging. He'd tried it once, then spent an hour puking up his guts until his throat burned. Lesson learned.

He knocked on the door, surprised to only hear silence. After another failed response, he shrugged and kicked the door open with his boot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: fixed some phrasings


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s up Jer, you sad fuck! I got loads a’ shit now! Hope you get blue fuckin' balls!"

He heard a groan from the door behind the counter, and it opened slowly. Jamie was surprised with what he saw; Jer had a swelled up nose, and dark circles under his eyes. His bottom lip looked slightly inflamed, and it had an indentation on it that appeared to be a bite mark, but he couldn’t be sure.

"Woah. What's the matter with you?" Jamie asked, frowning when he was only met with a hard glare, "you get in a fight or something?"

Jer grimaced, "Enforcers. Owed 'em money,” he winced, clutching a hand to his shoulder as he limped toward the counter, leaning his weight against it. “Didn't have enough. If you're here to sell, you're out of luck."

"Damn it. What'm I supposed to do with all this junk?" Jamison growled, kicking the base of the counter in frustration, then cursing as his foot ached in response. He looked back up at Jer, who had suddenly made eye contact with him, opening his mouth once, before looking down at the other junker’s hands and back up at Jamie’s face.

"What've you got there?” he asked softly, gesturing to Jamison’s hands.

"A what?" Jamie questioned, before suddenly remembering what he was holding.

"Oh! Shit, shit, right! Jer, lemme make you an offer: how would YOU like to have some fresh, radiation free meat, for the low low price of…” Jamie paused, glancing around the wrecked shop for a moment of consideration, “whatever I see in here that I like."

Jer had eased a cut of meat out of Jamie’s hands while he had entered his spiel, now surveying it critically.

"This-... This ain't poisoned, is it?"

"Do you think I'm crazy enough to spoil fresh meat?” Jamie paused as Jer opened his mouth to speak, “no, no, don't answer that, _shhh."_

Jamison put a finger to Jer’s lips, then turned, allowing himself to be distracted by his wares, while the man busied himself by grabbing some salt and wax paper to prepare his cut of meat.

 

Jer's wares were shit, no doubt, after the enforcers visiting. There were the tiniest oddments of rusted metal, some torn up clothing only the most desperate junker would trade for, and scrap paper littered on every shelf. Mostly just receipts and shit; notes from before.

Jer paused from his task and frowned in Jamison’s direction, commenting, “I got hardly nothing. Robbed, remember?”

Jamison clicked his tongue, “Yeah, I can see that,” he mumbled, “guess I’ll take the meat back, then.”

“Wait wait! No need to be so hasty,” he jumped in nervously. He paused, as if considering if he should share what he was about to say, before giving in and sighing,“Didn’t wanna tell anyone this. Thought I’d take it to my grave.”

Jamison turned from his spot, glancing at Jer for a second. “Yeah?”

“There’s-...” He paused. “Well, gonna cost you to get me to talk.”

Jamison glared at the older junker for a moment, then groaned loudly as he slogged over to the counter.

“Alright, alright, take the whole thing, Jesus.” He slapped the rest of the meat onto the countertop, then put his elbows on as well, resting his head in his hands as he leaned forward to take in what Jer had to say.

 

“I was young once. Well, fuck, younger than now. A bitchy little scrapper, like you.” He sighed, scratching the back of his neck, like it was embarrassing to talk about it.

Jamie giggled at the thought of Jer and him being the same, which riled up a fierce stare from the older man.

“The omnium,” Jer continued, “that fuckin’ crater? It used to be chock-full of scrap. And not those measly pieces you bring in; titanium, metal, aluminum, long and wide as you’re tall. You had to cut it up, strap it to your back just to log it back for sellin’, y’know. That sort of shit was worth a lot of trade, shame it’s rare to find it now.”

Jamie nodded along, not really understanding where the man was going with this story, but interested nonetheless. Jer got misty-eyed for a split second, caught up on nostalgia, before he shook his head and continued.

“Anyways. So I’m scrappin’, got nothing but the clothes on my back and this bodgy piece a’ shit machete, when I hear…” he paused, trying to find the right words to explain it, “this noise, like rocks on concrete. Look down, there’s this little hole next to my boot, and turns out I’m scuffing up dirt into it. Sounds hollow. So I…” He paused, noticing the younger Junker’s bored expression, “you don’t wanna hear all these details.”

Jamison had started to twitch more than usual, a clear sign that he was getting antsy, and tapped his fingers against the counter anxiously. “So what’s it mean?” he asked irritably, “what’ve you got for me then?”

Jer grinned slyly at the other man, glancing over both his shoulders as if someone were eavesdropping, before leaning in close to Jamison.  
“I found something. Something any suit’d pay top dollar for. Real techie shit, omnicy. But, fuck, being in there? Radiation’d already got to my bones. Oi’m not going out there again; I’d rather the enforcers kill me. But you’re young; you’re adapted to this shit.” He paused, realising his rambling wasn’t doing either of them much good. He reached under the counter, prying up a floorboard, ignoring how the counter shook as Jamison practically vibrated in anticipation. "I made a map,” he stated, snatching up a piece of paper. He laid it flat on the countertop, aside the meat Jamison was offering, and gestured for the younger junker to look at it.

 

From what Jamie could recognise, it was a crudely drawn map of Australia, or at least he assumed that was what Australia looked like, he only ever found out from relics from before the blast.

There was a dot, labeled _‘OMNIUM’,_ and another one an inch away labeled _‘JUNKERTOWN’._ Surrounding the two dots were big circles, a diagram of what Jamison assumed to be the radiation zones, and a caption underneath the map: _‘1 DAY WALKING, 4 HOURS DRIVING.’_ Damn. Jer had really thought this through. He snatched up the map, bringing it an inch away from his face, scrutinizing it. He peered up from the paper, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Jer.

“And there’s treasure there? Like- Like _treasure,_ treasure? Somethin’ worth a fortune?”

Jer nodded. Jamie stood there for a moment, just staring at the piece of paper clutched in both his hands. He thought this over for a second; Jer wasn’t exactly trustworthy, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t come back and blow the drongo to kingdom come if he was lying. Satisfied enough with his backup plan, he tucked the map away in the pocket of his ragged shorts, heading merrily for the door. He had just placed his hand on the doorknob, before pausing and turning back to the older man, baring his teeth into a cocky grin.

“Y’know, mate, if you’re wrong ‘bout this treasure, I’m comin’ back and blowing you t’ fuck up,” he relished in the view of the Junker’s blood drain from his face, threat well recognised, “Pleasure doing business with ya! Ta!”

Jer blinked, taken aback, before the door to his shop slammed shut behind him.

"Crazy cunt," he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had help w this chapter from my lovely talented boyfriend @ocdmedic !!!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god knife wounds

Junkertown, despite its reputation, was a tightly knit community. Recluses like Jamison weren’t the norm at all; everyone liked to look after each other. It was easier that way, to see threats coming, to defend against enforcers. Jamison didn't know if he counted as a threat, but he really hated going into town. Jer was one thing, but actually conversing with his fellow locals was his idea of hell. But he needed someone to help him track down his treasure, and what better place to look for big mean musclebound help than a Junkertown bar?

The particular bar Jamie was headed for was the most popular one in town; it was full of folks from all sorts of walks of life, and all of them with questionable morals. Probably full of strangers, too.

 Jamison was kind of scared to walk inside, if he was being honest. He paused at the entrance, before unstrapping his tire, sidestepping to the side of the building, kneeling onto the ground with it and unscrewing one of the plates from the side. From the inside of the tire, he picked out his knife and stuck the handle in the back of his pants, and grabbed the map out from his shorts’ pocket, replacing where the knife was and shoving it into the innards of his tire. 

He screwed the plate back on behind it, and pulled his tire back onto his shoulders, psyching himself up, before confidently pushing the bar door open. 

 

The bar seemed to be about the nicest thing Junkertown had to offer, Jamison letting out a low whistle as he looked around, forgetting about his surroundings for a moment. It actually had windows. Sure, they were smashed, but certainly classy for post-apocalyptic Australia. In the mid-centre of the room was an old looking pool table, except the men playing pool at it had tiny little pieces of scrap metal resting on the edges of it, like they were betting. The billiard cloth was frayed, with tiny little rips and tears that weren’t worth it to fix, and the table wobbled whenever a man leant into it to shoot. 

The bar was packed with chairs, some stools, and some dining chairs stripped from abandoned houses, from the looks of them. Jamison went up to the closest stool and plopped himself onto it. The bartender, an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair tied up in a tight bun, smiled at him. She had a sawed off shotgun sticking out of the side of her belt, and a knife attached to what looked like a keychain hanging from one of her belt-loops. She smiled kindly at him.

“And how old are you, love?”

“Uh… 20?” Jamison tried feebly, grinning sheepishly at her. 

She laughed at him.

 “You ain’t ever been to a Junkertown bar, have you, sweetie? Ain’t a drinkin’ age,” she chuckled to herself for a moment, finding his honesty amusing.

Jamison smiled back anxiously, drumming his fingers on the bar counter. He hadn’t been to a Junkertown bar before. He hadn’t been to a bar at all, actually. He only knew what they were thanks to Jer.

“We got whiskey, tequila… Little moonshine in the back-” The bar keeper continued, tapping off the different liquors on her fingers. 

Jamison snapped back to focus, an awkward smile still planted on his face.

“Could I get a couple shots?” 

“Of course, dear,” the bartender said, placing the glass she was cleaning down and turning to prepare his drinks.

 

Jamison tapped his fingers on the bar counter uneasily, sending wary glances to the people around him. The only other junker he interacted with on a regular basis was Jer, and these junker’s weren’t anything like him. His uneasiness relieved slightly as the barkeep returned, setting a tray of shots down in front of him. He reached for one, and downed it almost immediately, the harsh flavour making him gag and rub at his temples. He growled, then grabbed another one, swallowing it’s contents quicker than he had before. As soon as the second empty glass hit the wood of the counter, he gestured the barkeep for another three shots.

“Whoa there kid,” the woman chuckled, still happily taking his empty glasses and refilling, “slow down with the shots, they pack a lot more punch than ya think.”

He made an incoherent noise, waving her concerns away, “Oi can handle my liqour. Even if it tastes like shit to me,” he grumbled, snatching up another shot and swallowing it down with a grimace. 

“No offense.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to taste, sweetheart,” she responded, shrugging his manner off and leaving to tend to another customer. 

 

Jamie sunk his head to the counter as he finished his second round of shots, picking out splinters on the wood counter as his boredom was beginning to quickly rise again. He was beginning to forget why he had came when the counter suddenly jerked underneath him, causing him to clip his tongue with his teeth. He perked up in his seat, looking across to see another Junker perched on the stool next to him, ordering a strong whiskey.

The man easily towered over Jamison and was layered thickly with heavy spiked armor, a ragged mask and steel-capped boots, all various types of clothing that was typical to see on an armed Junker. His head was mostly covered, save his forehead which was scarred and dirty with dry blood. He covered the rest of his face with thick pilot goggles and a scarf tied tight across his mouth. He turned to acknowledge Jamie, jerking his head in a greeting nod, to which Jamie mirrored, eyes wide in fear and awe, before the junker reached up and removed the mask from his face. Under the mask was a lot cleaner than his forehead, but his eye had a wild scar passing up from the bottom of his jawline to the middle of his eyebrow.

Jamie stared at him.

“God, I need a drink,” he stated to Jamie, his golden teeth glinting from beneath his lips as he spoke.

“Cor,” Jamison squeaked, his voice jerking nervously, “me too, mate, rough in Junkertown, huh?”

“Sure is,” he mumbled in response, taking a huge gulp of his drink, “people have b’come real demanding of bounty hunters nowadays, leaves me no time.”

“Bounty hunter, huh?” Jamison grinned up at the man, “shoulda guessed, you’re a scary lookin’ cunt!” 

The other junker narrowed his eyes. 

“Not in a bad way,” Jamison forced out quickly, his voice giving a nervous hitch. “I like it. No one messes with you, huh?”

The man chuckled. “You got that right.”

 

There was a pause as the man took another swig of his drink as it was placed down on the counter, “so, what’re you doin’ round ‘ere, darlin’?”

Jamison raised his brows, realising he’d been clocked.

“Shit, I was just lookin’ for, uh…” Jamison trailed off. 

“I know what you’re lookin’ for.” 

The man leant towards him in his seat.

Jamison swallowed nervously, eyes widening.

“You’re lookin’ for some more tequila!” The man gave a hoot of laughter, slapping Jamison on the back. “Got ya hooked, huh?” 

Jamison giggled nervously, visibly relaxing. 

“Right! Right, right, rightrightrightright. That’s why I’m here, I-I’d love s’more.”

The junker whistled aloud for the barkeep, ordering the shots as Jamison wrung his hands together on his lap nervously. 

“So, uh, where ya come from? Junkertown?”

“Nah, nah, just visiting. Got a pretty big score in the mornin’. Guess I’m psyching meself up.”

“I hear that!” Jamison said, probably too loudly. 

The man laughed, then slapped Jamison on the back again.

“Y’know what, kid? I think I like you.”

“That’s probably good,” Jamison said, forcing down his fourth shot of tequila.

 

“So, listen. I got m’hands on a little somethin’ recently,” Jamison slurred out, leaning his head on his hands, elbows on the tabletop.

The man perked up.

“It’s- Well, what it is isn’t important right now, is it?” Jamison giggled, leaning in close to the other man.

“You’ve gotta help ME, and I’ll help YOU. Become rich. Is what I’ll do. I’ll help you become rich.”

He poked the man on the chest for emphasis.

“...” The man squinted at him.

“...Alright. I’m buying what you’re selling. ...How rich?”

“Millions- No, nah nah nah. Billions a’ dollars. So much money you could skip on Junkertown forever. Hell- fuck-... shit, you could BUY Junkertown. Buy it ‘n start a fuckin’... I don’t know, what do entrepreneurs do? Start a casino? With all the… money… machines.”

Jamison was suddenly acutely aware that maybe he shouldn't be saying all this to a bounty hunter he just met.

“I mean, if I knew-” Jamison felt asudden numbness in his leg, and a hand was clasped over his mouth. He squirmed a bit, trying to move, but the man chuckled softly.

“I think you don't know what kind of man you're talking to.”

Jamison tried to move again, feeling that same numbness, before looking down at his leg.

Huh.

That’s not supposed to be bleeding. The man’s knife went straight through the back of his calf, into the table, holding him in place. Suddenly pain was overwhelming him, filling every sense, gnawing sharply on his leg with teeth made of broken glass, any analogy he could think of- Jamison was in almost the worst pain ever. He screamed against the man’s hand, biting into it hard to try and stop the pain. The man removed his hands and roughly grabbed Jamison’s face by his cheeks.

“Alright. Where’s your treasure.”

_Treasure?_  Jamison tried to respond, he really did- he felt like maybe his leg would explode if he didn’t?- but all that came out of his mouth was a squeaky, high pitched whimper. 

The man grabbed Jamison’s throat with a spiked, steel hand. All chatter in the bar slowly came to a stop as the rest of the junkers slowly realized what was going down.

“Don’t be stupid, you little bitch,” he began, practically spitting into Jamison’s face, the greys of his facial hair visible with how close he was to Jamison. They were practically nose to nose.

Jamison gargled out a whimper of a response, aiming his head high to try and take in at least some air, but the steel around his windpipe was closing fast, the wetness on his leg growing quickly, oh god black vision oh god oh god-

“Hold on.”

The woman behind the bar held the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun to the base of the man’s neck. Jamison, though for some reason it felt like his brain was swelling up, felt the steel grip around his throat falter a bit. He tried to struggle out of the grip, like a rat in… someone’s grip, he supposed, before the barkeep continued.

“I don't like some stranger coming into my bar and roughin’ up my clientele. So unless you wanna leave with an 8-inch diameter hole in your brains, I’d suggest lettin’ that boy go.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Jamison took in a huge lung-full of air, wheezing it back out almost as soon as he breathed it in, before collapsing on the table, hacking and coughing like hell. He pulled the knife out of his shorts and laboredly dropped it on the table with a ‘clunk’, then went back to trying to get his lungs working properly again. 

The man smiled amicably at the barkeeper, then rose up to his full height, grabbing his bloody knife and stuffing it into a leather sheath on his thigh. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, love. This little rat-”

“Nah, nope. No 'love,' no nothing. You just get the fuck out of my bar.”

He glared at her, but before he could make a threatening move, the noise of about 17 junkers levelling their own weapons reached his ears. He paused, then let out a sigh of frustration, glaring at the woman as she crossed her arms and leant towards him. 

“As I said. Time to go, mate.”

He grabbed his mask and trudged to the door. He turned to Jamison, and gave him a hard glare. Then, he slammed the door, and left into the dusk.

 

Many of the junkers cursed loudly once he was gone, and the barkeep sighed. She went to face Jamison.

“How’re you doin’, sweetheart? What got him all worked up?... Well, now, no need to answer that now. Let’s get you somethin’ to drink. _Not_ tequila.”

Jamison rubbed his sore throat, letting out a laboured sob of pain, which, thankfully, the barkeep didn’t notice as she poured him something flat. She set it out on the counter, then started to speak, before double-taking. There was blood on the counter, from where the knife had been. Her eyes widened  considerably. 

“Jesus, honey, coulda said something to me,” she chided gently, before kissing her teeth in frustration.

“Anyone got some bandages? A bandana?”

A large junker with a burn scar on her arm tossed her a roll, and Jamison watched in a haze as the barkeep went around the bar and knelt beside him.

He felt pulling on his leg, a softer pulling than before, but didn’t bother to look down as he shakily picked up his drink. It almost slipped from his grasp, how loosely he was gripping it, but drank in something sweet and fruity tasting. His throat felt soothed and numb almost instantly.

 

He looked down at the barkeep, who was kneeling at his leg in a pool of blood, vigorously pulling a length of bandage around his leg. She tied it off, hard, before cursing loudly and layering over it when it soaked through almost immediately. Jamison clenched his jaw. This did hurt a lot, when he thought about it. The burned junker came to help the barkeep, kneeling with her and handing her a few other supplies from a satchel slung around her waist.

Soon, the bandage was thick and tight enough to not let any blood through. 

Jamison blinked down at his leg.

“Well, fuck,” he choked, meaning to sound manly but missing that once his voice hitched with pain.

The barkeep stood up, helped the burnt junker up as well, thanked her for her help, grabbed Jamison’s canteen from his waist and went back behind the bar. 

“That’s mine-!” Jamison almost protested, before the bartender gave him a kind, but withering look. She filled up his canteen with the Mystery Fluid from a tap, and handed it back to him.

“Now, you’re gonna wanna drink that before you rest so the pain doesn’t keep you up all night. I don’t think I can help you with it anymore than that, sweetheart.”

“I-Er… Can you tell me what to do if it bleeds through?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, uh… ‘Ram, any bandages to spare?”

The burned junker looked to Jamison, then back at the barkeep, sighed, and pulled out her roll of bandages.

“Gotta pay me back in beer,” she growled playfully at the barkeep, who crossed her arms and tsked at her.

The junker tossed Jamison the roll, who caught it feebly and stuffed it into his shorts pocket. 

“Thanksh,” he said quietly, looking down at the ground. His vision was starting to swim…

 

He slowly lowered himself off the barstool, trying not to yelp as a surge of pain shot up his leg the moment it touched the ground. He hissed in pain, and carefully adjusted his weight between feet, then took a laboured step toward the bar.

“Sheila- ...er-” Jamison paused when the barkeep glared at him.

“...What’sh yer name?”

“Margaret. I'd ask you to thank me, but it seems like you don’t have the mental capacity right now.”

“Whuh- I thought I did. Ah... Thanks.”

She smiled at him, brows knitted together almost anxiously.

“You oughta go back where you’re holed up for some sleep. You had a rotten day, and you seem pretty fuckin’ dizzy.”

“I’ll try not to pass out along the way,” he half-joked.

 

Jamison passed out along the way. Or, at least, he thought he did. He wasn’t really surprised when his head hit the grass; he figured he could only stay conscious after enduring a gaping leg wound for so long. He only hoped that he’d leave behind a bloated, disgusting corpse. 

 

He woke, barely alive, to the smell of a blazing fire. 

His head was killing him, and his right leg felt completely numb. 

He could feel the fire’s warmth on him, but he also felt like he was freezing, which probably wasn’t a good sign. Had he made camp, in a half-dead, half-drunk stupor?

”You’re awake.”

A deep, filtered, rumbling voice knocked Jamison out of his stupor, and he sat up quickly. 

 

A beast, a giant silhouette opposite the fire, sat across from him. 

He was gigantic. Sitting down, he had to be at least three-fourths Jamison’s height. The fire reflected off of the lenses in his mask, making them seem to glow red. He tilted his head at him. 

”I stapled your leg closed,” he rumbled.

Jamison hadn't noticed right away, but he was right. The layers upon layers of bandages were gone, and instead, it was stapled shut. It wasn't clean or straight, but it seemed to be holding well enough.

”R-Right. Thanks. Well, if that’s all, I’ll be leaving now--”

As soon as Jamison made a move to stand, the behemoth had raised his gun and fired it at the ground just in front of Jamison.

”No, ” he breathed though the mask.

”You’re _mine_.”

 

Jamison stared at the other man, eyes wide, then forced a quirked grin. 

”Right. Yours. I guess all my blabbing got out, yeah? You want treasure?”

The giant man paused, then let out an affirmative grunt.

”Alright, that'll work out just fine then! You want treasure, I’m being hunted, you’re a big guy, _I’ve_ got treasure-”

”Get on with it.”

”-Er, right. Y’see, I don’t exactly have the treasure on me, y’know?”

”I _do_ know,” the man replied, holding up-

”-Wait, that’s my map! You went through my tire?!”

”I was bored.”

”Well fuck, that’s a good enough excuse I guess!” 

Jamison narrowed his eyes at the other man, then continued.

”So you know my problem, then. The treasures a day away, and I don’t have any supplies-”

”That’s covered too.”

”Whuh- How?! ...Nevermind. So, we’re doing this together, yeah? Why else would you patch me up?”

The man stayed quiet for a long time. Finally, he nodded.

”That’s great! I’ve always wanted a gigantic bruiser following me around! People will say, look, there’s Jamison Fawkes and his massive bodyguard-”

”Roadhog.”

”Pardon?”

”My name is Roadhog.”

”...Huh. That’s pretty badass, mate. Hog, hog, hoggy... Do you think I’ll need a name like that since we’re partners?”

”Mmm... Stinkrat.”

”Oh, _ha-ha-ha_. I get it. Because I smell and I look like a rat. Nothing gets past you, mate.”

”Shut up.”

”Got it.”

Jamison managed to shut up for three minutes.

”Have you ever had a hangover?”

Roadhog held up his gun menacingly.

”Right, right. Just asking. My head hurts.”

”You’d think that’d make you talk _less_ ,” Roadhog growled.

Jamison smiled innocently.


	6. Chapter 6

So, yes, he was basically kidnapped against his will. Yes, he was under the threat of being shot if he tried to leave. Yes, Roadhog was probably only in it for the treasure.

But...

Honestly? Jamison didn't really mind. Roadhog was just _so cool._ They had both gotten exactly what they wanted out of this deal, right? Jamison (finally) had protection, and Roadhog... Er... Roadhog could get money.

 

The throbbing in his leg kept him awake. Jamison knew that the medicine the junker bartender (what was her name?) put into his canteen was some kind of painkiller, but he didn't want to waste it on an ache. He had been through much worse pain than this.

While he was kept awake, he thought. Staring up at the stars.

Roadhog.

Such a cool name.

He wondered if maybe he was given that name, or if he had chosen it himself. Was it a nickname? Jamison thought that giving yourself a nickname was pretty lame, but if it was a name as cool as Roadhog, he could maybe make an exception. He still had to figure out a cool nickname for himself...

 

His mind was getting jumbled with thoughts like these. When he was with people, like Jer, he loved to chatter on and on about all of his ideas, all of his inner-workings. But he thought that Roadhog might be getting annoyed with all of the questions he kept asking him.

 

...

 

One more.

 

”Psst! Roadhog! Are you awake?”

A deep grumble.

”Ehe. You have such a cool sound. Does your mask have a voice changer?”

”No. Stop talking.”

Fair. Wait-

”Wait, wait, that’s not what I wanted to ask!”

”Then spit it out and go back to sleep.”

Damn. Roadhog was grumpy. Should Jamison really be testing the waters like this? ...Well, he’d gotten this far.

”How are we getting to the... Uh... Shit, I remember, er-”

”The Omnium.”

”Right, right! Do you have a truck?”

A huff.

”Motorcycle.”

A motorcycle?! How badass could this guy get!

”You’re pulling my dick, mate!”

”...Never say that again.”

”Ehe, right. Fuck, I bet it's ginormous! I’m gonna feel so badass!”

Roadhog sat up straight from his position beside the blistering campfire, turning to look directly at Jamie.

”I wouldn’t get comfortable.”

Jamison felt a pit grow in his stomach. He stared at Roadhog, suddenly feeling the atmosphere become very intense.

”It’s not a joyride. If you damage my hog, fuck the treasure. I will rip your limbs off, one by one. Treat it like it were yours.”

Jamison stared at Roadhog, then covered his mouth, smothering a weak giggle.

Roadhog looked over to Jamison’s incredibly scratched up tire, and huffed in frustration.

”Just... Be nice to it.”

Jamison grinned.

”Fuck, mate! You had me scared stiff. Thought you were gonna cut me out of the deal! But no, yeah, I'm gonna treat your bike right, no worries! We’re buddies now, right?”

Roadhog paused. He subtly looked to the ground, then back to Jamison.

”...Fine. But you’re forgetting something.”

Though feeling a little threatened by the ominous, vaguely threatening words, Jamison smiled. ”And what’d that be, mate?”

”Go. To. Sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a cute little chapter to set some stuff up... plus I love the banter


End file.
